Page 64 of The Witch's Heart
I take a step towards the doctor, until our bodies are nearly touching, and I tilt my head again, exposing the pulsing vein of my neck. "Drink."
His arm snakes around my waist and pulls me into his hard, unyielding body. My spine tingles in anticipation as he dips his head and his lips brush against my skin.
At the exhale of my breath, his teeth sink into my flesh. I brace myself for the expected pain, but what surprises me and nearly undoes me is the wave of pleasure that crashes through me as he drinks deeply from my vein.
I sag into his arms, my hands gripping the bulging muscles of his biceps as his grip tightens around me.
The brothers growl and step closer, but they must be able to tell I'm fine. Better than fine. So much more than fine. Because they don't make a move to stop us.
And then he pulls away.
Abruptly and far too soon.
My head spins and I take an unsteady step back.
A trickle of my blood drips down his full lips and he wipes at it, unable to make eye contact with me. "I must go. I'm sorry."
He glances at Dean and Declan before slipping out of our room, closing the door firmly behind him.
I'm left shaky and unsure of what went wrong.
He didn't hurt me.
But I could sense his emotions, and I know it hurt him to do this.
To give into his nature.
Especially with me.
I cup my neck to keep the blood from staining my dress and make my way to the bathroom. Once at the sink, I assess the damage. Two tiny marks leaking blood, like a bug bite. And they are already healing.
Interesting.
I study myself and realize I'm already covered in blood anyway. Maria's blood.
The thought strips me of whatever pleasure I just experienced as the violence of the night crashes into me. I turn towards the toilet and heave the last remnants of bile from my stomach, then I strip out of my clothing as quickly as I can and step into the shower, turning it on as hot as my skin is able to handle.
I scrub and scrub with a manic energy that scares me, trying to get the blood off me. Trying to erase the memories of her death that haunts me.
I should have stopped her.
I should have stopped him.
I should have killed him when I had the chance.
But did I ever have the chance? I don't even know how powerful this man—no, monster—is. None of us do.
A shockwave of grief and pain hits me, and I slide to the floor of the shower, curling into myself as the water streams over my head and the sobs rise up from the depths of my soul.
Suddenly, two strong arms wrap around me, lifting me to my feet. Startled, I peel my eyes open and find myself staring into the dark green eyes of Declan, who has shifted out of wolf form and is as naked as I am.
The feel of his skin against mine, the look of pure desire on his face, the way he's holding back so he can comfort me without expectation—all of this drives out every other emotion inside of me and replaces them with need.
Carnal, hot, urgent need.
My lips find his, skipping any words we might have exchanged, and I kiss him with everything in me. With all the longing and loneliness and fear and grief and pain I am carrying. With all the desire and need and love that has been building. All of it is pushed into that kiss and moves through us, binding us into one.
Somehow he manages to turn the water off without letting me go, and he stands, lifting me into his arms and carrying me out of the shower and into the bedroom.
